The Rain
by Acepilot6
Summary: No.13 in the Road series, reposted after being taken down for being in the wrong category. My first TL, probably the best story I ever wrote. Please review.


**The Rain**  
Acepilot

AN - No.13 in the "Road" series, though it very nearly wasn't. I'm not saying that this is how Tommy and Lil got together in the "Road" series, but Phil did imply in his speech that they made a meal of their relationship. So, consider this one of the difficulties. And this may (or may not) have been inspired by the song "November Rain" by Guns N Roses.

Disclaimer - The characters of Tommy and Lil and the rest of the RR/AGU gang are property of KlaskyCsupo.

---

So it's come to this.

I'm standing outside of her house in the pouring rain, staring up at the one lit window in the place. Like something out of a movie, watching the silhouettes move inside and not caring a jot for her privacy. Not bringing myself to care, not wanting to care. Because I shouldn't be out here, I should up there, and we both know it. Everyone knows it. Me, and her, and him.

Lightning is flashing all around, but I don't move. Not one inch. I barely blink. The rain is pouring all around me, and I'm wearing nothing more protective than my clothes and an old, battered coat, but I don't move an inch.  
It's come to this. One last ditch effort to find out if she loves me. To prove her claims that she doesn't wrong.  
The days when I could ignore her are long gone, the days when I could ignore my feelings were gone long before that. She's...she's something that I've never been able to fight, I don't think.

My dad once told me that things change suddenly. You might think it would be progressive, but when change sets in, it comes all at once. Or at least, it seems to.  
She spent the years transforming into a beautiful woman.

And one day, I noticed.

I still remember the day. I remember the time, I remember the place. It was the Mall, on a glorious midsummer's day. The whole gang was there, and we had just gotten lunch. And she turned to me, and grinned, and in that one second I was helpless before her. She could have asked me to jump off a cliff, go skinny dipping in the food court fountain, or tapdance on the burger grills barefoot. I would have suddenly done anything. I don't fool myself into thinking that it was love at first sight, or anything like that. I think I've loved her for a long time. I wouldn't say forever - I'm not naive enough to believe in love acting like lightning, and I don't think it's a destiny or inevitability, either. But I know that, for years and years now, I've loved this girl. It just took that one day to see it, and it took another year or so to admit it.

And it just took a scarce few days to ruin it.

So it's come to this.

A month ago, I was in that room. I was the silhouette on the wall, I held her in my arms. I played with her ponytail, running my fingers across the nowadays red streak in her hair. Teasing her ticklish spots, pulling her close, kissing her on the forehead and never wanting to let her go. Basking in an afterglow the likes of which I've never felt before. She's the single best thing that ever happened to me. And I don't think that I've ever been through a harder time than I have in the last month.

So it's come to this.

The most I've been out of the house in three weeks, as I'm sure Dil would irritatingly have observed, had he not been tucked up in his bed. Like I should be, instead of out here in this stupid, freezing rain.

Watching the silhouettes through the window.

No, just watching a silhouette through the window. A silhouette that I could describe nearly perfectly. I could tell you every contour of her body, if I so desired. I don't care about the other figure in her room. I'm not interested in him. Not even maliciously. I don't care one way or another what he does, what happens to him.

But I do care what she does.

Because I love her, and I need her, and I can't live without her. And if she sleeps with him tonight, if I watch the silhouettes all night long, then I've lost her. I've lost her, because she doesn't love me. She's told me she doesn't love me, but I don't want to believe her.

Maybe I should.

How can I blame her for what happened? After everything she's been through - the people who have screwed with her life over the last couple of years - how can I blame her for pushing me away? For not wanting to get close.

I can blame myself for pushing back, though. For pushing my way toward her, for digging in deep where I wasn't wanted. And she threw me out, forcefully. That night, weeks ago, when she screamed in a voice that the whole neighborhood could hear, that she didn't love me.

She doesn't love him, either. We both know it. Maybe even he knows it. But then, this whole little exercise was never about loving him. It was about proving a point. It was about proving that she doesn't love me.

Maybe I should be appalled. Maybe this whole experience should make me not want her, in disgust for her stooping to this kind of action. But she's stubborn, and I knew that going in. Maybe this is a bit of an extreme example. But...I love her regardless. And, not to mention, I drove her to this. In my own, special way.

When Phil came to my room and told me that she had a date tonight, I knew. Phil probably knew. Everyone would have known. This was about me and her more that it was about whatever guy she was dating.

It was about love. It was about her not loving me.

So it's come to this.

I'm standing in the pouring, icy rain, staring at a silhouette in the window that has stopped moving. She's standing still. I can't see her features. I can't see where she's looking, whether she's got tears in her eyes.

But she's stopped moving.

I might have known more, had I looked at his reaction. But I couldn't bring myself to tear my eyes away from her, where she stood, motionless.

I'm snapped out of my trance by the door to her house opening. He shakes his head at me, shrugs, and walks over to his car, driving away into the night. Which is fine. This was never about him, after all. This was about proving that she didn't love me.

So it's come to this.

I'm standing in front of her door, the wood slightly ajar, the rain beating down on me as I stare at the last barrier between us. But I can't bring myself to go in. I can't let myself enter, I can't go to her.

I'm waiting.

I have to wait.

For the door to open again, for it to be her, for it to all be right. For her to tell me that she loves me. For her to pull me inside, and kiss me, and I take her in my arms and don't let go.

For the door to open again, for it to be her, for it to all be right. For her to tell me that she hates me. For her to pull me inside, and kiss me, and I take her in my arms and don't let go.

For the door to open again, for it to be her, for it to all be right. For her - and I - to know that words don't matter.

For her to pull me inside, and kiss me, and I take her in my arms and don't let go, with her tears and mine mingling with the rainwater, washed away like our misery.

For the door to open again, for it to be Phil, for him to say "You're going to get pneumonia standing there like that."

It's come to this.

The door opens again, and it's her. And words don't matter. We both know it, and we're both a little happier for it. Any words right now would be a waste, anyway. Because I take her in my arms and hold her, her lips pressed to mine, tears overflowing both our eyes. I run my hands through her hair and her arms snake around my neck. I'm getting her all wet, but she doesn't seem to mind or care.

She loves me.

---

It's come to this.

I'm lying in her bed in the small hours of the morning, watching rain lash at the window. And I wonder if my life has ever been better, if it ever will be. I'd do anything for the girl lying next to me. I'd step in front of traffic, I'd throw myself in front of a bullet, or a car, or a train. One arm around her waist, the other propping up my head as I watch her sleep. She's always been so peaceful as she slept. I love the way she always smiles when she's asleep. I love her, she loves me.

I'm not waiting any longer.

---  
what did you think? first t/l, of course. a dozen stories come and gone before i finally wrote t/l...so, how did i do?


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